


Put the gun down

by MunkUnk



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Dubious Consent, M/M, charles can walk, moria is a man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MunkUnk/pseuds/MunkUnk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings for dubious consent</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put the gun down

**Author's Note:**

> AU, Charles is not crippled. Moria is a man=Morty  
> This fic was inspired by Put the gun down by ZZ Ward.

_I think I'm cursed,_

_I had him first_

_Oh, Lord, have mercy,_

_You don't wanna break my heart,_

It isn't right. It isn't fair. It shouldn't be happening. And Erik (he wouldn't even _be_ here if he hadn't received a tip that Charles would be here; that someone was trying to hurt him) is furious. Why would Charles _do this_? Had he already forgotten everything he and Erik had had together? Already forgotten everything Erik had meant to him (or had that been a lie; had that been a trick to get Erik to allow Charles to touch him; to slip into his mind; to work his way into his heart; to crawl into his very soul and refuse to leave)?

He couldn't speak for the white hot fury radiating from deep inside of him; and all he could think is that he would like to see (more) blood spilled right now (not Charles'.). And he just might get his wish, because the man on the bed beside Charles was stirring, and Erik knew, just knew he was going to try to do something stupid like _be a hero_. _Heh_ , he hated that bastard. Hated that he had trusted him once; hated that Charles had stayed with him instead of following Erik; who would never have used Charles the way Morty had.

As he came to a pause in the middle of the room Erik drew in a deep breath; any minute now. And sure enough the bed shifts; Erik can feel it in his bones, and as he closes his eyes he reaches out into the room; the metal trembles and reaches back. Once Morty moves off of the bed Erik hears Charles let out a whimper, and he feels a twinge of guilt, which is quickly pushed aside by the wave of _why him, and not me_.

It's a shame, Erik thinks, that they aren't in his citadel, because if they were he would be able to tell when Morty is behind him; but as it is he has to wait to be caught unaware; but he _doesn't_ , because Charles lets out a soft gasp, and Erik has time to send electromagnetic waves through his body so that when Morty hits him – in the back; the spine; what a coward – he doesn't feel it. He turns slowly, scowling and Morty lunges for the gun, Erik almost _laughs_ because that is perfectly useless against him, but instead he moves the gun just out of Morty's reach; so he hits the footboard with a groan of pain, and Erik's eyes fix on the gash on his arm.

He feels Charles moving before he sees him; raises his hands, and launches the two empty soda cans at Charles; they twist, melt and reform, catch Charles' wrists and slam back into the headboard; wrap around his wrists, and the posts of the headboard; effectively pinning Charles there. Grinning Erik grabs Morty by his hair, forces him to get up and move; all but drags him to the bathroom, shoves him in as he follows after. He pays no mind to Charles' whispers of _please no, Erik, please_.

The door shuts, and Erik removes the clip from the gun, drops the gun to the floor where it clatters, and shoves Morty into the shower, "How dare you?" Erik actually asks, interested in the answer,

"You're the one that attacked _us_ , Magneto!" Morty sneers, and Erik throws his head back and laughs; because it's absolutely hilarious,

"Charles belongs to me." Erik finally says; the laughter abruptly gone from his voice, and Morty scowls, furrows his brow; clearly confused, Erik tosses the bullet into the air, and leaves the room; the door clicks shut behind him; and the bullet tears cleanly throw Morty's head before he can figure out what's about to happen (and Erik does feel a little bad; Charles had cared about that man, for some reason). The heels of his boots click against the floor as he makes his way over to the bed, and Charles looks up at him strangely; fearfully. "Why?" Erik asks, does not elaborate, because Charles _has_ to know.

But all Charles does is stare at him; remains silent, and Erik's scowl deepens, slowly he sits on the edge of the bed and looks at Charles' face appraisingly; tentatively puts his hands on Charles' knees and urges them down, to his surprise Charles allows this. "Don't you love me?" Erik asks, reaches out and strokes Charles' cheek, and wishes he had taken his gloves off; and supposes he can in a moment, but it doesn't seem to matte either way, because Charles' eyes close and he tilts his head into the touch,

" _Always_." He whispers; but his mind is on Morty, and wondering what Magneto had done to him (knowing, and refusing to acknowledge). When the hand that had been caressing his cheek draws away Charles closes his eyes and rests his head back against the head board; when the hand returns to caress his shoulder, it is no longer covered by the glove, and Charles lets out a shuddering breath; it's been a long time, too long a time, since he's felt those hands on him; and he can't help the half choked sob that escapes him, "I miss you." He whispered, and the bindings on his wrists came undone, but when he reached for Erik the other man caught his wrists and propelled him away.

Confused Charles opened his eyes as Erik climbed off of the bed, and tugged him out; following though he was unsure _why_ Charles cleared his throat, tried to think of something to say, but didn't get the chance before Erik asked, "Why didn't you wait for me?"

"You were never coming home!"

"You don't know that, Charles. I'm here now, aren't I?"

That threw Charles for a loop because it was _true_ ; Erik _was_ here; but _why_? As it would turn out Erik planned in letting all of his questions go unanswered; and planned on making him hurt; planned on destroying him, because next thing he knew Erik was pushing him down on to his knees, and Charles was _confused_ , because Erik had never treated him this way before; he had never forced Charles down like this, had never threaded his fingers through Charles' hair, and tightened them that hard before, "What are you doing, Erik?" Charles' voice was barely above a whisper as he watched Erik's fingers lower his zip, and dip inside to pull his, still flaccid, penis free of the confines of his (too tight) pants.

"Better question" Erik drawled as he started to stroke himself; it was a little uncomfortable the way Erik was holding his face so close as he did this; it was embarrassing, "Charles, is what you're supposed to be doing." Charles blanched and swallows thickly; he's hardly got any experience doing this, and none of his experience has been forced (Erik had been a gentle lover; had let him stop, hadn't acted disappointed – not too disappointed, anyway – and angry when Charles had first tried to suck him off; and ended up gagging so hard that he got tears rolling down his cheeks; this was wrong), "Open your mouth." Charles hesitates, he doesn't want to; doesn't not want to, "Open your mouth." Erik repeats, and Charles shakes his head slowly; feels a flare of anger because _no one deserves to be treated this way_.

Letting out a frustrated growl Erik jerks Charles' hair, tilts his head back, and looks down into his eyes, "You aren't going to?" Charles shakes his head, and Erik just grins; "How about we do something a little more intimate, then?" Erik's grin is frightening; and Charles' hand moves up _on its own_ , and he feels his heart beat pick up as he watches his hand wrap around Erik's now stiff penis, and begin to stroke slowly, Erik trembles, and Charles suspects that has nothing to do with the stroking. And suddenly Charles' other hand it wrapping around his own flaccid penis; which grows hard startlingly quickly; and he's throbbing painfully, as he watches in apt fascination as his hand moves on its own.

As soon as Erik is fully hard he feels his fingers unwrap, but can't draw back; and when Erik moves away, toward the night table – Charles' heart pounds, because he knows what Erik is getting – and he has no control over himself when his body shifts forward; palms pressed into the floor; arse ready for the taking. And Erik doesn't pause for a moment, kneels behind him; and when Charles feels two fingers slip inside he lets out a hissing gasp, tries to move forward; but his body won't respond to him.

Though Erik isn't exactly making this good for him, he isn't making it _bad_ , and he's very thorough as he prepares Charles; and once the initial shock wears off he finds that he's rather enjoying it; and something inside twists painfully under that realization, and he forces himself not to moan; waits, and hopes Erik will realize he doesn't want this, and _stop_. But Erik doesn't, he pulls his fingers out, and carefully aligns himself with Charles, and thrusts in; this time Charles can't stop the gasping moan that escapes him, finds that he has regained control of his body; those invisible strings cut, and he arches his back.

The feeling of Erik inside him is intoxicating. Slowly one of Erik's hands rest on his ass, and the other grips his hip; as Charles tips his head back, and lets out an odd keening sound Erik runs his hand down into the dip of Charles' back, traces the ridges of his spine, and let out a shuddering sigh as he slowly drew back, snapped his hips forward again, and gasped; it felt good. As good as it ever had, and if Charles' body hadn't been so high on this he's sure he would be crying.

The feeling of Charles coming undone under his hands; against his hips, was the most glorious thing he had ever felt; and Erik was finding it a little difficult to maintain control over Charles; knew it had broken because Charles was arching his back, and Erik certainly hadn't told him to do it, but it didn't make him like it any less. As his hand traced over Charles' spine he urged his hips to move, ran his hand up over Charles' shoulder blade as his hips shifted back; thrust back in. In, out, in; the best kind of rhythm he'd ever experienced; and he knew the feeling was mutual because Charles was gasping under him, arching and moaning beautifully; Erik's own moans never made it out, instead he let out soft little gasps and grunts as he continued to move against Charles.

After the first few thrusts, and the rhythm was set Charles found himself rocking back to meet Erik, moaning wantonly, and trembling under his touch; this wasn't _right_ ; this was wrong – where was Morty? – and he should not be getting off on this because Erik was a murderer; Erik was a bad person; and he didn't want this. But still, every time Erik's hips drew back, Charles shifted forward; rocked back as Erik thrusted forward. "E- _Erik_!" Charles tried to use the name as a command, but it came out like a moan, and he heard Erik make a soft noise of want, felt his thrusts grow more erratic.

And suddenly Erik was pressing down into him, wrapping an arm around him to catch his erection, and stroke it slowly; and then his lips were against Charles' neck, the helmet scraped and poked him, causing Charles to hiss; but Erik's lips, the heated suction of his mouth on Charles' flushed skin was enough to turn his hisses into breathless gasps. Erik's fingers were moving quickly, to match the pace of his hips, Charles supposed; but he didn't care because it was working. He could feel that tightness in his balls, that heat coiling in the pit of his stomach; saw white sparks behind his eyelids, and moaned loudly, his muscles tightening; and that must have been enjoyable, because Erik finally moaned.

Throwing his head back Charles arched his back impossibly, and Erik's teeth scraped against his sensitive flesh, sending him over the edge with a ragged half moan half sob. As he collapsed forward on the floor Erik drew away from him, caught Charles' hips, and continued thrusting into him – which only made things worse for Charles – for another few moments, before he came; inhaling sharply as he did, fingers tightening reflexively on Charles' hips; so hard Charles was sure there would be bruises. When Erik finally, _finally_ pulled out Charles sagged to the floor, and Erik, still catching his breath climbed to his feet and tucked his penis back into his pants, zipping them as he moved to crouch down beside Charles.

Reaching out Erik caught his chin when Charles tried to look away, and dipped down to press a kiss to his lips; didn't seem to mind that the helmet was cutting into Charles' skin, which made the other man tremble, and shiver as he tried to pull back, but couldn't. When Erik drew back he licked his lips, and stroked Charles' cheek, smiling oddly at him, before softly whispering, "You belong to me Charles. Don't ever forget that." startled Charles remained silent, "I'll kill the next one you let touch you, too." _Too?_ What had he done?

Standing in one fluid motion Erik retrieved his gloves and pulled them on, grinning down at Charles. "You should clean up. You smell like him." unable to breathe; or comprehend what had just happened Charles lay there, half propped up on his arms, and watched Erik leave.

He felt dirty; used; he felt like he had done something terribly wrong. And after a moment of fighting it he curled in on himself buried his face in his arms and started to sob.


End file.
